


Lost Track at the Sight of You

by dzzyondreams



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, Pre-hiatus, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 17:02:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1192890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dzzyondreams/pseuds/dzzyondreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick doesn't mean for it to happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Track at the Sight of You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XV prompt "voyeurism." Thanks to [sceptick](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sceptick) for the cheerleading + beta work. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

Patrick doesn’t mean for it to happen.  One moment he’s poking his head into a variety of rooms backstage trying to figure out where the hell Pete is and the next he has an eyeful of someone choking on Pete’s dick.  

Patrick jerks to a stop at the sight because _what_.  Sure, he knows that Pete sleeps around a bit, but hearing about his conquests is a far cry from seeing one firsthand.  

“Yeah, fuck, yeah,” Pete mutters, head thunking back against the wall behind him, and Patrick swears his eyes slide open and land on him.  And then Pete grins.

“Fuck,” hisses Patrick, ducking back around the doorframe, in hopes that Pete hadn’t seen him.  He doesn’t hear anyone fumbling away from anyone else, or even moving to close the door, just more of those pornographic noises.  So he must be safe.  

Unfortunately, he’d been given strict instructions to get Pete on the bus in the next five minutes or they could find their own transportation to the next show.  From where he is right now, Patrick doesn’t think they’re gonna meet that deadline.

Logically, Patrick should leave.  He should find his way back to everyone else and say he has no idea where the fuck Pete is, and then try to stall for a few more minutes.  He should send Pete a text telling him to hurry the fuck up, wherever he is.  He should nod along to whatever story Pete makes up later to explain his absence, and then put this moment out of his mind forever.  _Logically_.

On the other hand, he doesn’t think he’s ever going to forget the way he can hear Pete’s breath catching in his throat as whoever it is works him over, and there’s this little whining noise he’s making that is giving Patrick, ah, a bit of a situation of his own.  He presses down on his cock through his pants.  It’s good, it’s so good until Pete spits out something incoherent and there’s an answering moan from the guy going down on him and Patrick realizes what the fuck he’s doing.

It’s the hardest thing he’s ever done, but Patrick pushes off the wall he’s been leaning against and walks the other way, willing himself to think of his grandmother and the smell of gas station bathrooms and the way Pete thinks it’s funny to shove his dirty socks in Patrick’s face.  He still needs a couple of minutes before he’s ready to face the guys, though.

Everyone else is gathered by the door when Patrick comes back.  “Where’s Pete?” asks Andy.

“Did you guys think to, uh, look outside?” asks Patrick.

“Dude, who would be crazy enough to be outside in this,” mutters Joe as the wind gusts around the door.  _Pete would_ , is the unspoken answer, so they all head outside to look.  Patrick shoots off a text ( _I don’t know where you are but you’d better have a damn good excuse for making us late)_ and then hangs around the door because the building blocks the wind and he knows that searching isn’t gonna do them any good.  

Sure enough, Pete shows up three minutes later, looking like…well, like he just got blown backstage.

“Fuck, it’s freezing out here after being—” Pete jabs his thumb toward the venue.  _Being warmed up by someone else_ , Patrick’s brain supplies.

“Dude,” says Patrick.  “Could you be any more obvious?”  Pete frowns, but straightens his shirt and does up his belt again.  “Next time you make us late because you’re hooking up with someone, we’re gonna leave without you.”

“You wouldn’t let them do that to me,” says Pete, though he does look a bit worried.  “Mind keeping this one quiet, though?”  

Patrick shrugs and says nothing while Pete spins some story for everyone else about how he was helping the opening band’s bassist figure something out.  He shoots a wink at Patrick and Patrick has a second of thinking _he knows, he knows_ until he realizes that Pete thinks he’s just being a good friend.  To make up for any illusions in that area, Patrick joins Joe in chucking pens at Pete until he apologizes.  Everything’s back to normal—except for the part where Patrick brings himself off that night in his bunk, knuckles in his mouth to muffle himself and the echo of Pete’s cries from earlier ringing in his ears.  Once he’s calmed down he tells himself that’s it, this is just the last of a train of accidents, and now that it’s over, things will go back to normal.

They don’t.

 

+

 

The thing is: it keeps happening.  Not the part where Patrick watches Pete get off, but the part where Pete disappears backstage after a really good show and no one can find him.  After the first time, Pete makes it a point to clean himself up a little before reappearing so no one else knows what’s going on.  Patrick, as the sole keeper of Pete’s secret, doesn’t think he should risk someone else figuring it out, so he doesn’t complain when the others put him on search duty.  Also, this way he can be a lookout for Pete to make sure no one else walks in on him, which is really just good friend behavior.  That’s it.

The side effect of the… arrangement is that Patrick becomes intimately familiar with Pete’s sex life in a way he never has been before.  Not that he hadn’t known some details, because Pete liked bragging about his conquests whenever he thought it would embarrass Patrick or irritate anyone around, but this is a whole new level.  Patrick knows now that Pete loves it when people play with his nipples and that he has a tendency to scrunch up his nose when he’s about to come.  Patrick has an entire mental catalogue of the sounds that Pete makes when he’s getting off, and that might be as fucked up as it is hot.  

He _knows_ it’s fucked up.  Somehow it doesn’t manage to stop him.  

He figures this isn’t what Pete had in mind when he told Patrick that their rockstar career was gonna corrupt him sooner or later, but he has to concede that Pete won that bet.  Even if he doesn’t know about it.

It’s all fine as long as no one else finds out, Patrick figures, because it’s just a weird thing that he’ll get over.  He hasn’t gotten laid in ages because he refuses to do random hookups on tour, and it’s only natural to feel a bit turned on when exposed to so many sloppy blowjobs.  Even if one of the people involved is his best friend, it doesn’t mean anything.  

That’s what Patrick tells himself until he walks around the corner one day to see Pete on his knees in front of a pretty blonde boy who has one hand on the back of Pete’s neck and the other fisted in his hair.

Patrick ducks out of the hallway like he usually does, fast enough that he could play it off as an “oh shit I didn’t know” if anyone had seen him.  No one ever does because he’s careful, but it’s part of the defense he’s built up.  And, shit, the fact that he’s built up a defense should tell him how out of control he’s gotten, but he’s never taken time to think about it before, and he’s certainly not going to now.  Right now, all he has in his head is the image of Pete on his knees, lips stretched around Patrick’s cock, and shit, where did that come from?

It’s not like Patrick didn’t know that Pete gave head.  Pete’s a decent guy, definitely not the sort to leave someone hanging.  So yeah, Patrick had figured that Pete was as familiar with going down on guys as he was with girls, but he’d never actually seen it before.  If he had, he might not have let this whole thing get so far.  

Patrick stumbles around a couple more corners until he finds a quiet nook of his own and shoves his hand down his pants, because fuck it.  He’s high on adrenaline from the show and if he doesn’t do this now, he’s gonna be uncomfortable for the next few hours because they’re supposed to stop at a radio station to promote _Infinity_ before they roll out.  He comes imagining Pete’s mouth around him and gasps for breath without really thinking about what he’s done.

As soon as his legs are steady enough he tries to make himself look less like he just got off and more like he was involved in some reputable backstage activity.  Pete’s gone and Patrick takes a slightly different route back to everyone else so it won’t look weird.  

“Dude, where’ve you been?” demands Pete when he gets back.  Patrick shrugs and doesn’t say anything and Pete just gives him a strange look before returning to his conversation with Andy.

“How was it, tiger?” Pete asks later, when everyone else is sufficiently distracted.

“What—I didn’t—“ Patrick starts, before realizing that he has no idea what excuse he’s gonna make.

Pete just winks at him and throws himself on the couch, slinging his legs over Patrick’s lap.

Patrick lets him sit there and tells himself to think of anything that isn’t Pete.

 

+

  

It comes to a head a few weeks later, when they’re playing a show somewhere south enough that it’s fucking hot.  By the time they’re running off the stage everyone’s coated in sweat.  Pete rips the remains of his shirt off because he’s that fucking exhilarated and Patrick watches with everyone else as Pete hollers and bounces off everything backstage.  Andy and Joe submit to his tackle hugs and then Pete jumps at Patrick, who holds on to him until he realizes that the sweaty post-performance Pete Wentz in his arms has been superimposed with the image of sweaty post-sex Pete Wentz, and he shoves him away.

“Dude,” says Pete, though he doesn’t look too put out.

“You’re fucking gross,” Patrick returns and Pete shrugs at that.  He strikes up a conversation with one of the stage techs and Patrick finds himself looking at the sweat collected in the hollows of Pete’s throat and wanting to lick out it, and then make a trail over his tattoos and down his chest.

“Dude,” says Pete again, and Patrick realizes he’s been staring.

Patrick shakes his head to clear it, and Pete gets that look on his face that means he wants to know what’s going on.  Looks like it’s time for Patrick to beat it back to the bus, which he does with no hesitation.  

Everyone else is still in the venue, which means that Patrick can a beeline for his bunk, kick off his pants, and wrap a hand around his already-hard cock.  He imagines Pete is still hanging out backstage with the other guys; maybe now he’s slipping off with some pretty thing he’s found; maybe he’s fucking into some girl or choking on dick; and why couldn’t he be here instead, looking up through his bangs as Patrick thrusts into his mouth—and Patrick comes, gasping out “Fuck, Pete,” and thanking God that no one is around to hear him.  When he opens his eyes, “motherfucker,” there’s Pete looking at him, eyes blown.

“I wanted to—,” says Pete, gesturing wildly, “you were acting weird, I thought you were sick—“ but Patrick can hardly hear him above the blood rushing in his ears.  And Pete’s not leaving.  He would be leaving, right, if this was weird?  He would make some excuse and back out and then they wouldn’t talk much for the next few days until Pete decided they were fine and flopped down on Patrick’s lap while they were watching some movie.  But Pete’s—he’s not doing that, he’s just staring at Patrick and Patrick notices that, fuck, Pete’s hard, and he’s standing there watching like he doesn’t care (or maybe he does) that Patrick’s hand is still covered in his come.  There’s sort of only one way out of this, and it’s not like Patrick can make it any worse.  

“I—can I—?“ Patrick gestures at Pete.

“Oh fuck yes,” Pete says, reaching down to unbutton his jeans and doing his best to shimmy out of them as he crams himself into Patrick’s bunk.  Patrick gets a knee in the side before Pete manages to get his pants off, but then there’s just the two of them and an electric proximity.

Patrick’s not really sure about the etiquette involved in giving your best friend a handjob or whatever, so he just kind of goes for it.  It’s not long before Pete’s muttering “Patrick, Patrick, fuck, Trick.”  His breath is hitching in the way Patrick’s become so familiar with, so he thinks he’s probably doing okay.  “Fuckyes, fuck,” Pete’s saying; he always gets incoherent when he’s close.  It’s not really a surprise, then, when he tenses up and comes between them with a high moan, but Patrick’s breath catches just a little when he realizes that look on Pete’s face is there because of him.  

Patrick doesn’t want to move in case this entire thing has been a mistake, so he calms himself to the count of Pete’s breath huffing against his neck.  Pete fumbles for the tissues beside his bunk to wipe them off and then manhandles Patrick so they’re spooning. “No freaking out,” Pete says, wrapping a hand around Patrick’s hip, “Because that was pretty fucking hot, and also because I haven’t gotten a chance to blow you yet.”  

“Mmm,” says Patrick in agreement, because regardless of his vivid imagination, he’s pretty certain the reality is going to be better.

When they get around to it, it certainly is.  


End file.
